


In the Shade of the Cherry Blossoms

by tacomuerte



Series: Femslash February 2017 - Chlonette Edition [9]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bushido - Freeform, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Gender Role Reversal, Jidaigeki (Samurai Period Drama) AU, Romance, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacomuerte/pseuds/tacomuerte
Summary: In the late Edo Period, samurai have fallen into corruption and vice. Instead of honoring their duties to the shogun and the people, most samurai serve only themselves seeking political and financial gain, eliminating anyone unfortunate enough to stand in their way.Many loyal women are left masterless as a result becoming ronin, so-called wave women, who wander the land in ever-increasing numbers. Most fall into banditry. Many sell their blades to the highest bidder.A few remember the teachings of bushido and seek vengeance on the women responsible for the death of their master.This is the tale of one such woman...* * *Title from a haiku by Kobayashi Issa.Femslash February 2017 Day 9: Flowers





	

hana no kage  
Aka no tanin wa  
nakari-keri

In the shade of the cherry blossoms, there are no strangers.

\- _Kobayashi Issa_ (1819)

* * *

It was time. 

The ronin opened her eyes, ending her meditation at the roadside shrine where she knelt. Giving the rain-worn stone monument a final, contemplative look and hoping her ancestors would approve of how she had spent the past year and what she intended to do today, the ronin stood and dusted off her knees.

Today she was going to meet her fate, and she wished to meet her ancestors with her red and black hakama in as decent a condition as possible. Unlike most traditional hakama, hers was not striped. Large black dots splashed across the red of the hakama in no discernible pattern. Her mother had hated this hakama, always telling her she had no business dressing herself to live up to a nickname, but the hakama and the memories associated with it were as precious to the ronin as the katana at her side that housed the souls of her ancestors. The blade and the hakama were two of the three possessions she still cherished.

Instinctively, her hand reached towards the third, a black and gold lacquered comb in her hair. Frowning, she halted her stray hand and forced it back down. This was not a morning to become caught up in remembrances of the past. Today, she embraced her fate.

Satisfied that she was as presentable as a ronin was likely to be, she passed under the torii arch and stood for a moment by the side of the road, in the shade of the cherry trees lining both sides of the path.

Soft pink petals swirled around her in the early spring breeze, reminding her of thick flakes of snow. A slight chill in the air further evoked the image. The cold breeze kept her mind sharp and aware as she watched the daimyo’s procession in the distance, approaching slowly. The clopping of hooves and the rattling of armor underscored the sound of the wind, growing steadily louder by the moment.

Thankfully, it was not an uncomfortable day despite the unseasonably cool wind. The sun shone overhead in a bright, cloudless sky, and its light flitted through the branches and blossoms of the trees, dappling the ronin as she mentally prepared herself for the approaching confrontation.

The ronin focused on steadying her breathing and visualizing the upcoming duel. Kujaku-sama would not die easily. She was smart and ruthless, and she knew the ronin was a generational talent with the blade. That alone made it doubtful that she would accept the ronin’s challenge, but her pride would not allow her to simply have her women cut the ronin down.

The ronin hoped that Kujaku-sama would opt to appoint a second to duel in her place. Many fine swordswomen numbered among her retainers, so the outcome of any duel would be uncertain. If the ronin won, that would be when Kujaku-sama ordered her women to cut down the ronin, and the ronin accepted that. She would go to her death knowing that her mother’s honor had been vindicated.

At least, she had the advantage of surprise. Kujaku-sama no doubt expected the ronin to come for her and attempt to even their score tonight in Edo. But a lone woman, even one as skilled as the ronin, confronting a daimyo with an armed escort of one hundred warriors containing somewhere between twenty and thirty samurai? That was suicide.

Kujaku-sama was not a woman to consider an action so desperate, and would not think the ronin would take this strategy either for that reason. The ronin knew something, though, that Kujaku-sama did not. She knew what it was like to live with only a single thought running through her head for a year.

The ronin had been preparing for revenge for an entire year. It was her singular purpose. And her revenge had to be today, the anniversary of Kujaku Tanjoubi’s humiliation of the ronin’s mother in court. 

Her grip on the hilt of her katana tightened as she allowed her thoughts to eddy back to that day. Kujaku-sama’s accusations and taunts. The parade of “witnesses” that had been called to testify to the ronin’s perfidy. The shogun indicating that she intended to sentence the ronin to die for the dishonor she had brought upon Kujaku-sama’s name. Her mother stepping forward to claim responsibility for her daughter’s crimes. The shogun decreeing that her mother’s only path to cleanse the dishonor was seppuku. 

Even that had not been enough for Kukaju-sama. She had demanded jūmonji giri, and the ronin had been refused the right to stand as kaishakunin for her mother.

Despite all this, the ronin’s mother had conducted herself with discipline and honor. She did not flinch as she made the cuts, and she did not cry out as she slowly died, bleeding to death to cleanse her shame. 

It was small comfort to the ronin that her mother had not lived to see the final insults to her good name. Her lands and property were confiscated, and her daughter was cast out, forbidden by official shogunate decree from seeking honorable vengeance on the daimyo who had lied out of petty jealousy.

Forbidden as it might be, the ronin intended to avenge the stain on her mother’s name before offering herself up to the shogun’s authorities for execution. She had waited patiently as the days dragged on, lowering herself so far as to sell her sword, guarding caravans and hunting down bandits who preyed on peasants too poor for samurai to care about.

The ronin stepped onto the road and faced the oncoming column of women. They halted roughly two hundred meters away. The bushi and their peasant conscripts stood at the ready. The ronin could see that, and she was impressed that they maintained a steady demeanor in the face of a single warrior. Most samurai would laugh at a lone woman preparing to challenge a daimyo in front of dozens of retainers.

The wind seemed to turn colder as the ronin realized that she had underestimated Kujaku-sama. Clearly her appearance had been expected, and she cursed her overconfidence. A sense of foreboding fell over her. Kujaku-sama was not a woman to take threats lightly.

While she would not put it past Kujaku-sama to simply halt her caravan and pepper an enemy with arrows, the ronin counted on the daimyo’s womanly pride. This was another reason why the ronin wore her formal kamishimo today. The red and black outfit in her family’s traditional colors was distinctive, and Kujaku-sama would recognize her immediately. Appearing afraid of a single ronin would be a blemish on her honor that Kujaku-sama would not tolerate.

Careful not to let her hand drift towards her blade, lest she provoke her enemies before the time was right, the ronin called out, “Kujaku Tanjoubi-sama! One year ago, you slandered my mother, forcing her to take her own life to counter your lies. I come seeking justice in her name.”

She could see amusement painting the faces of the women. Some went so far as to laugh openly. The ronin felt rage inside her ready to boil over. How dare these women act as if she was some biting fly to be swatted!

“Do you surround yourself with chattering men these days, Kujaku-sama?” she angrily demanded. “Will they prepare tea for us and amuse us with their gossip? Will one of them play the biwa for us and offer pillow talk?”

That got their attention. Any woman of honor would feel the ronin’s insult at being compared to a man.

A rustle of parting women revealed Kujaku-sama riding to the front of the column. Her icy glare reminded the ronin of how the daimyo had earned her reputation for being heartless and cold-blooded.

“My apologies, Samurai,” Kujaku-sama said, her voice betraying no emotion. “If my retainers do not understand that war is women’s work and wish to keep homes like good husbands, then I must thank you for revealing their unworthiness.”

Instantly, the daimyo’s retainers straightened and their faces hardened.

The ronin felt some satisfaction. She embraced her fate, and she would not tolerate the jeers of dishonorable women.

“I am afraid, though,” Kujaku-sama continued. “You are mistaken. One year ago, I spoke simple truth and your mother’s treachery doomed her.”

“Liar!” the ronin shouted, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade.

Kujaku-sama’s smirk did not reach her eyes. 

The ronin realized that this was all going to the daimyo’s plan. She had walked into a trap.

“I accept your challenge,” Kujaku-sama stated, surprising the ronin. The daimyo knew the ronin had planned to meet her on the road to Edo. The smartest move would have been to ambush the ronin with enough women to overwhelm her. This was a risk. If the ronin won and Kujaku-sama had her women kill her, then word might leak out, ruining the daimyo’s precious reputation no matter what lies Kujaku-sama told.

The ronin had been prepared for the daimyo to accept the challenge only because the woman lacked options. She had intended this surprise encounter on the road to maneuver Kujaku-sama into a corner. But Kujaku-sama’s acceptance coming now, with the knowledge the ronin had prepared this, meant some larger game was afoot.

Before the ronin had time to speculate what the daimyo was plotting, Kujaku-sama continued, “However, I am not as spry as I once was. My daughter will stand in my place.”

Daughter? The woman only had one adopted son, a comely boy who had been the genesis of the incident leading to the undoing of the ronin’s mother. She and her mother had traveled to Edo to discuss the possibility of the ronin marrying the boy, but Kujaku-sama had her sights set higher than the ronin’s station and wanted a higher-ranking woman to inherit the boy’s dowry, no matter what agreements had been in place before Kujaku-sama’s star had risen in the constellation of the shogun’s court. 

A daughter? What was Kujaku-sama playing at?

The answer came quickly, as a tall woman stepped forward. Her pale yellow kimono had black stripes down the sleeves, and the ronin’s heart sank.

She did not even need to see the straw takuhatsugasa to know who she would face in this duel. The hat was a gift the ronin had long ago made with her own hands for the woman standing before Kujaku-sama. 

“Yes, mother,” the young woman said, bowing. “I will fight for you.”

Now, Kujaku-sama’s smile reached her eyes. The trap was sprung.

“Do me proud, daughter,” Kujaku-sama said, dismissively as if she were asking this woman to carry out a trivial duty.

The yellow-and-black clad samurai strode forward with purpose. When she was ten paces away from the ronin, she stopped and reached up, removing her hat.

She was just as beautiful as the ronin remembered. This was the cruelest fate imaginable.

A year ago, a young samurai girl had been prepared to give up a secret, forbidden love and do her duty for her honor and her family by marrying the adopted son of Kujaku-sama. A year ago, the world was different. Then, a vicious daimyo had discovered the gentle affection the ronin held for her current opponent, and destroyed the ronin’s life at the perceived insult.

Now amidst the falling cherry blossoms, one woman would kill the woman she loved, no matter who was victorious.

“Tentoumushi-chan,” the ronin’s opponent said, affection coating the nickname she had given the ronin so many years ago. “I think fate smiles on us today.”

“Smiles?” the ronin asked incredulously. Shamefully, she felt the grip of fear. Not for herself, but for the woman she faced. Either the ronin killed the woman she loved or the woman she loved would be forced to kill her. The only good fortune was that the breeze through the trees created a sweeping, rustling chatter preventing anyone farther away from hearing their low conversation. “How can you say fate smiles on us, Mitsubachi-chan?”

That was her secret name for her opponent. The woman facing her would always be her honeybee, ready with stinging wit, just as she would always be the other woman’s ladybug, her symbol of good fortune. When her mother had taken Mitsubachi-chan into their family after the girl had lost her own mother fighting against a rebellious daimyo, she had told the ronin that she felt that fortune had favored her, first with her mother’s bravery in battle and second that she had a friend as wonderful as the girl the ronin had been.

The ronin and the girl had become fast friends and eventually had fallen in love. Neither had ever dared dishonor the ronin’s mother or each other by admitting that fact to anyone else, nor had they ever acted on their feelings except for one gentle, chaste touch to Mitsubachi-chan’s cheek as a goodbye gesture the night before the formal engagement ceremony to Kujaku-sama’s son. 

That single, affectionate touch was the basis of the web of lies Kujaku-sama had spun to destroy her mother. The daimyo had claimed that Mitsubachi-chan was being blackmailed into allowing the ronin to force onto her unwanted attentions and that the ronin’s mother encouraged such perversity under her roof.

After her mother’s seppuku, the ronin had to make Mitsubachi-chan swear she would not follow her into exile, giving up a promising career as an officer in the shogun’s military. Her mother would never have wanted both her daughter and Mitsubachi-chan to throw their lives away.

That was the ronin’s fate, and she had declared that Mitsubachi-chan would not share it. Now, her final act of love meant to save Mitsubachi-chan had brought this.

Mitsubachi-chan spoke, ignoring the ronin’s question. “The sun is bright this spring.” She paused and turned the hat in her hands before tossing it gently onto a pile of cherry blossom petals fallen at the base of a tree. “Perhaps if things go your way, you can make use of that takuhatsugasa on your journey.”

“My fate is sealed, Mitsubachi-chan,” the ronin replied, thankful her voice was steady.

Her opponent nodded and unsheathed her katana. The sun glinted coldly off the blade. “As is mine,” she responded. “Come. Draw your blade, Tentoumushi-chan. It will be like old times.”

Old times… The two had sparred for so many years, the ronin felt she could have this fight with her eyes closed. They were evenly matched. The ronin was quicker, but Mitsubachi-chan was taller and stronger.

Many peasant tales and stories from foppish courtiers liked to emphasize how the smaller, quicker opponent always prevailed over the larger opponent’s strength.

It was a nice story, but it was far from the truth. 

The ronin drew her blade and entered her stance, matching Mitsubachi-chan. It occurred to her that this was truly how things had started. When she was a child, she had been lavished with praise for her prowess in kenjutsu. It was deserved. She was a brilliant swordswoman even at an early age. Then, the new addition to the household proved a match for her when sparring. Neither girl was used to having anyone their own age who could keep up.

The fiercest of rivalries was born, and over time it turned into the fiercest of friendships and the quietest of loves.

“Kujaku-sama called you ‘daughter,’ Mitsubachi-chan,” the ronin said. If one of them was to die today, then she wanted to know how this had come to pass.

“Yes, Tentoumushi-chan,” came the quiet reply. “Kujaku-sama requested of the shogun that I be granted the right to marry her adopted son. We are on our way to Edo for the ceremony.” As she explained, Mitsubachi-chan turned her head East towards Edo.

The ronin narrowed her eyes. 

Turning away from an opponent was a stupid mistake Mitsubachi-chan would know not to make. That was when she saw it… a lacquered comb gleaming in Mitsubachi-chan’s hair. The companion piece to her own comb, but red and black instead of gold and black.

“You still wear it?” the ronin asked, voice trembling, as Mitsubachi-chan turned again to face her.

“Yes, Tentoumushi-chan,” the woman replied. “Every day. Do you… do you still have yours?”

“Yes, Matsubachi-chan,” the ronin said. “Today, I go to greet my ancestors. I will carry the blade of my mother. I will wear the hakama you commissioned for me.” She paused, allowing herself a moment to keep her composure before she continued. “In my hair will be the comb that symbolizes my love for you.”

There was no answer from Mitsubachi-chan. There was no need for one. The ronin was satisfied that Mitsubachi-chan knew she had remained faithful in her heart. 

“Kujaku-sama’s son is a fine man, Mitsubachi-chan,” the ronin said, her voice trembling with bitterness. “He will make a good husband and raise fine daughters for you.”

Mitsubachi-chan appeared as if she were about to say something, but paused before she answered. “I should have gone with you. I didn’t, and Kujaku-sama told the shogun how impressed she was that I refused to go into exile over a dishonored woman, proving my loyalty to the shogun first.”

“I do not regret making you promise not to follow me, Mitsubachi-chan,” the ronin said.

There was no answer. The two women adjusted their stances slightly, poised on the edge of violence. Around them, flower petals swirled and fluttered in the wind. The ronin felt regret that such a beautiful day would bear witness to this tragedy.

Mitsubachi-chan sprang forward and the ronin parried, but the taller woman pressed on. It was smart of her to keep things close, eliminating the ronin’s advantage in speed.

For several seconds, the two locked blades before the ronin wrenched herself free and leaped backwards, sliding into her stance as she landed. She realized that she was holding back, and she knew Mitsubachi-chan was aware of this as well. Anyone who had fought someone as often as the two of them had fought each other couldn’t help but notice.

The taller woman came forward quickly again and the ronin shifted her feet to parry. In her distracted state, she did not notice the small pile of slick cherry blossoms onto which she placed her left foot, causing her to widen her stance too far and taking away her balance.

She was going to die. She had opened herself to the blow which would end her. 

Yet to her surprise, she did not die. 

Almost imperceptibly, Mitsubachi-chan hesitated, giving the ronin the split-second she needed to recover before parrying and once again pulling back to a safe distance.

The two resumed their guard stances.

“What are you doing?” the ronin hissed.

“I could ask the same of you!” was the heated reply from Mitsubachi-chan.

Choosing to ignore that, the ronin asked, “Are you **trying** to die?”

“I promised Kujaku-sama I would fight for her,” Mitsubachi-chan said, coldly. “I never promised her I would win.”

The ronin’s stomach lurched. 

She was being handed victory. Everything she had dedicated herself to for a year was now all but guaranteed. All it would cost was the life of the woman she still loved with all her heart.

For the ronin’s entire life, she had been trained to always choose honor and duty to family over any other concern. For generations, her family had lived and breathed honor. They had served the shogunate with distinction.

And yet… 

The wind blew through the twisted branches of the cherry trees, and in the absolute stillness of the moment the ronin could hear them softly creaking.

And yet… 

And yet, the ronin’s mother could have disowned her and demanded she commit seppuku for in her heart, the ronin had committed the crime she was accused of by Kujaku-sama. Her mother **should’ve** chosen the family’s honor. The ronin knew this although she hated to admit it, even in the silence of her own thoughts. Her mother could easily have done what Kujaku-sama had done and adopted Mitsubachi-chan afterward as a new and worthy heir.

Instead, her mother had chosen to die so that her daughter could have some semblance of a life, even if it was as a lowly ronin.

Instead, her mother had chosen to die so that Mitsubachi-chan’s honor would remain clean.

The last thing her mother had said to her was that she wanted no one to seek revenge in her name, and the shogun had decreed it so as a boon to a faithful servant. The ronin had broken that promise because she believed that her mother’s honor demanded it. What was one promise in the face of her mother’s reputation?

What was the death of one woman—even a woman she loved purely—if it would guarantee the restoration of her mother’s reputation?

It was too high a price. 

To her shame, it was a price the ronin could never pay.

The ronin looked to Kujaku-sama. The woman was crafty, and it was clear to the ronin that the daimyo knew what had transpired. 

Smiling, Kujaku-sama motioned to the bushi standing at her side, who raised a bow.

The ronin lowered her blade and hung her head, closing her eyes so she would not have to see the look on Mitsubachi-chan’s face as she died.

“Tentoumushi-chan,” her opponent whispered, despair bleeding into her voice.

The ronin did not respond. This must be what fate decreed, for the wind went still as a bowstring’s twang let the ronin know that her fate raced to meet her. She hoped that her ancestors could forgive her.

Suddenly, she was shoved hard and the expected arrow did not find its target. The ronin opened her eyes to see that Mitsubachi-chan had embraced her and pushed her out of the arrow’s path.

The ronin felt herself on the precipice of relaxing in the arms of the woman she would always love. A part of her yearned to declare her love on the spot. Another part of her wanted to shout that Mitsubachi-chan had no right to throw her reputation away on a ronin.

For one brief moment, her world was Mitsubachi-chan’s embrace… and then she felt warmth soaking into her shoulder as if she had spilled hot tea on herself. In her heart, she knew this was Mitsubachi-chan’s blood and as the other woman slumped against her, she struggled to maintain her balance.

“Mitsubachi-chan!” she screamed, not caring what dishonor it might bring. 

She instantly took stock of the situation. Her friend was limp against her, although she was still breathing raggedly. The arrow had pierced her back, but the ronin could see it was through her shoulder, not a lung. That was a small blessing.

Turning her gaze on the column of soldiers, she saw Kujaku-sama barking orders and women readying bows.

The wind picked up once again and a blinding torrent of blossom petals spiraled through the air.

Taking advantage of this moment of confusion, the ronin summoned all her strength and half-carried, half-dragged Mitsubachi-chan off the path and past the shrine into the woods. The daimyo’s arrows could not find them in the cover of the trees, and she knew this forest while the daimyo’s women did not. The trees and brambles were thick enough to obscure the sight of them, but if you knew where to look, a narrow path wound its way through the brush.

“Hold on, Mitsubachi-chan,” she ordered. “You aren’t allowed to die on me now.”

All she got for a response was a cough, but when she looked down, Mitsubachi-chan gave her a weak grin.

“There’s a peasant village hidden in the forest,” the ronin continued. “They owe me. Just live long enough for me to get you there.”

They paused when they could no longer hear the soldiers in the distance. Her hands shaking, the ronin took the opportunity to break off the end of the arrow so it didn’t catch on any branches. Fortunately, Mitsubachi-chan wasn’t bleeding too badly.

Together, the two made their way as quickly as possible to the village.

As they entered the periphery, Mitsubachi-chan looked to the ronin and said, “You shouldn’t have sacrificed your mother’s honor for me.”

The ronin focused on carrying the woman she loved towards the nearest home, but she did say, “My mother would have had my head if I let you die.” She did allow her eyes to flick to Mitsubachi-chan’s. “I love you,” she added. It was a clumsy way to put it, but she wanted to say the words at least once in her life.

The wounded woman replied by gently touching the ronin’s cheek in a mirror image of the gesture the ronin had made a year ago.

As they approached the house, the ronin could hear the villagers shouting for what passed for a doctor here.

“Tentoumushi-chan,” her friend whispered, her voice wavering. “I love you, too.”

As she lay Mitsubachi-chan on a tatami mat inside, the ronin pressed a kiss to Mitsubachi-chan’s forehead.

“Rest now,” the ronin chided. “We have much to discuss later.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my favorite film genres, so I hope I've done it justice.
> 
> I'm not sure how well this will do. It's rather internally-focused and moves at a more measured pace due to how the genre's emotional beats are structured. Still, I'm fairly pleased.
> 
> If you run the names through an English to Japanese translator, you'll see they're pretty on the nose, but that's a feature of the genre in my opinion! Just in case though, my beta reader advises me to give you translations in the end notes, so here goes!
> 
> [Kujaku](http://jisho.org/search/kujaku) \- Peacock
> 
> [Tentoumushi](http://jisho.org/search/tentoumushi) \- Ladybug
> 
> [Mitsubachi](http://jisho.org/search/mitsubachi) \- Honeybee
> 
> [Tanjoubi](http://jisho.org/search/tanjoubi) \- Birthday. (In French, the meaning of the name "Nathalie" is birthday.)
> 
> [Hakama](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakama) \- The lower part of a samurai's outfit worn over a kimono.
> 
> [Kamishimo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakama#Kamishimo.2C_kataginu.2C_and_naga-bakama) \- The full formal outfit of a samurai
> 
> [Takuhatsugasa](http://blogs.transparent.com/japanese/traditional-japanese-hats/) \- A hat worn by travelers to avoid the glare of the sun or protect the face from rain. The hat was made of rice straw woven together. A good portion of the hat shields the face.
> 
> [Jūmonji Giri](https://www.wattpad.com/144424006-japanese-facts-read-me-seppuku-jumonji-kiri) \- A particularly dramatic and brutal form of seppuku (ritual suicide) where the practitioner would make a cross-cut to their abdomen and then sit quietly and bleed to death, passing away with her hands covering her face. There was no kaishakunin allowed for this ceremony.
> 
> [Kaishakunin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaishakunin) \- An appointed second charged with taking the head of a samurai committing seppuku. This was done after the cut to the abdomen in order to prevent the samurai from crying out and bringing dishonor to herself.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the story and I look forward to any comments!


End file.
